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Erik has a habit of tracking people. Cataloguing their thoughts and behaviours even if it's just a fleeting connection, a meeting of the eyes before they become strangers again. It helps if he needs to use those traits against them if he wants to gain something he needs. He doesn't feel guilty or sad or any of those unnecessary emotions others feel. Erik is a man with a mission. It's not his burden to bear or think about.
The thing is, Erik has been organized and in control of what he feels and experiences. Until he meets a certain Charles Francis Xavier.
The oddest thing about this man is that Erik can't quite fit the bright-eyed, annoyingly British sounding man into any of the several neatly lined up boxes in his head that he's used all this while to categorize people. Charles cheerfully transcends every single of them. He's something of an enigma. He's the first person in almost forever that has made Erik think about them twice.
They meet when Charles throws himself headfirst into the frigid waters of the Atlantic in Miami to save Erik from letting himself get killed. He's unsuccessfully trying to haul the submarine by its huge metal chains to make Schmidt and his cronies die a slow, cold death by drowning. Charles' grip is stronger than Erik expects it to be from a man of his stature. He refuses to let go even when Erik jabs his side hard enough to bruise, and Erik is too astonished to fight back when he hears a voice in his head asking him to calm down unless he wants to die. He can feel his anger getting subdued, the consuming white-hot rage of being unable to complete his mission dying down and being replaced by a sense of calm that's almost alien to him.
It's not humanly possible for anything to influence his emotions like that. Unless...
You're not alone, Charles says, struggling to keep them afloat. Erik, you're not alone.
Erik is tempted to snort, but doesn't want to risk inhaling any of the seawater.
They're up on the deck and shivering despite being given warm, government-standard woollen blankets, when Erik belatedly realizes that Charles is a mutant. A telepath, specifically. He's like Erik. He's made of the same stuff as Erik is, and is just as different from all those humans as Erik is. Up until now, Erik had always believed he was the only one of his kind. He releases a breath he didn't even know he was holding. And finds himself paying close attention to Charles.
Charles doesn't leave his side that night as they share a cramped room on the ship. It's close to where most of the machinery of the ship is, and Erik keeps himself calm by tracing the humming of the engines with his powers. Charles acts as a buffer between him and the CIA officials. Erik is distrustful of almost everyone, particularly officials that are in tandem with the government, but Charles seems to have utmost faith in the woman named Moira. Erik doesn't care, though. All he wants is to get back to his feet on unmoving land and resume his search for Shaw.
But something about Charles compels him to stay on for just a bit longer.
Charles is...friendly. Beyond reason. Especially to someone like Erik, who knows he's blunt and doesn't smile and doesn't trust people at all. Charles laughs at some of the things he says, and sometimes has a twinkle in his eye like they're sharing some joke privy only to the two of them. He's always smiling, and it irks Erik as much as it draws him in.
But even the exhilaration of finding someone like himself can last only for so long. He's seen enough by the time nighttime comes around. The CIA agents aren't particularly good at making functioning locks, or maybe they are, but nothing they have is a match for Erik and his powers. He's learned everything he needs from the files that lie carelessly tucked into one of the shelves, almost as if they want him to see whatever intel they have on Shaw. All he has to do now is leave without anyone knowing.
Nothing prepares him for Charles standing outside the entrance to the mutant division of the CIA, hands in his pockets. Charles is surprised that he's managed to stay this long after all he's learned about Erik.
“What do you know about me?” Erik asks. He's not afraid of Charles. Not anyone, and definitely not Charles.
“Everything,” Charles replies with a small, mysterious smile and a look in his eyes that suggests he's far more powerful than anyone would assume just by looking at him.
Erik feels a strange shiver run down his spine. “Then you know to stay out of my head,” he says. What he is afraid of, though, is this...kinship between them fracturing, which is ridiculous, considering he's barely known the man for two days. What difference is it going to make if Charles Xavier doesn't like him anymore? The faster he distances himself from people he doesn't need in his life, the better.
But since when has he ever been bothered about impressions?
Charles loves to talk, Erik realizes a week into their road trip, half his attention focused on driving the car and the other half focused not on what Charles is saying, rather how much he has to say. He talks about the weather and things he's heard about the place they're going to and how hungry he is. They argue over mutant politics and songs on the radio and the best places to eat and Erik actually feels himself relaxing for the first time in a while. He's never connected with someone like this before, or allowed himself to, and it feels good to just pretend they're friends out on a holiday, that he doesn't have a whole different world to return to once their job here is done.
Friends, huh. A few weeks ago Erik wouldn't even have considered driving all across the country in search of some mutants to recruit for his cause, had it not been for Charles persuading him to stay.
He can't help but sneak glances at Charles as he talks about his Ph.D. Erik couldn't care less about Charles becoming a teacher, because he would much rather Charles use his powers to greater effect, but there's something about the way Charles is so expressive whenever he's talking about himself, or anything at all, that draws Erik in like a moth to flame.
Which is something he can't risk. Distractions are fatal and the last thing he needs, so he voluntarily pulls away from whatever Charles is saying, and pretends not to notice the slight look of disappointment on his face when they finally reach their location — the strip club where their next mutant, Angel Salvadore, is to be found.
All the fog in the room mixed with the loud music begins to make Erik's head hurt, but his eyes are focused on nothing but Charles. Charles grinning mischievously, Charles doing something to make Angel laugh, something he doesn't have the slightest clue about, but knows that he likes the way Charles grins, so carefree.
Oh. So that's what this is, then.
They've been attached at the hip for just a week and Erik feels like he's walking willingly into a trap he can't get out of. And he can't even mind, because it's Charles.
It's pretty late in the evening by the time they arrange for Angel to reach the CIA base safely. They've also recruited a cabbie named Armando, who insists he be called Darwin, and has the incredible ability to adapt to whatever situation he's in. Charles is quite taken aback by his mutation and talks about it all the way back to their hotel.
It's quite early for them to retire to bed, so Charles suggests they go for a drink or two at the bar down the street, just something to help them unwind for the rest of the day.
Which is well and good, until Charles starts flirting with one of the ladies at the bar with his terrible pick-up lines. Erik has to order another round of drinks to cope with them, sobriety be damned. He's heard nearly every single one of them and they're just so cheesy that they annoy him. Logically, he knows that all Charles does is flirt with them to pass time. He's not actually going to bring them back to their hotel or anything of the sort, but there's a twinge of annoyance that rises up in his gut. He focuses on trying not to damage anything remotely metallic in the establishment.
“Erik?” Charles asks a while later, oblivious to the storm brewing in his head. It's just as well.
“Yes?”
“Are you...alright, my friend?”
“Why do you ask, Charles?”
“Well...” Charles says, tracing the condensation on his glass with a fingertip, which shines just as brightly as his lips, “you seem somewhat...off. I'm getting a feeling of general unease from you, and I'm not sure if I'm the reason for that.”
Maybe not so oblivious, then.
“You're a telepath, aren't you?” Erik sneers. “I'm sure you'll find what you want in my head, even though I asked you to stay out.” He throws enough cash on the table to cover both of their drinks as well as a tip for the bartender and leaves, long strides walking him out of the bar towards their hotel.
He knows it's stupid, and that he looks childish, getting worked up over something that he's seen a few times already, hiding behind his anger and mistrust instead of confronting the problem head-on. But he can't stand the sight of Charles with someone other than him.
There's no way Charles doesn't know at this point.
Charles calls out behind him, pleading for him to stop, but Erik doesn't listen. Doesn't want to. He doesn't want to know what Charles thinks of him, because he's certainly seen everything that's going on in Erik's mind. He'd said as much when they'd first met.
Charles manages to stop Erik just as they reach their room, a hand on his arm. Erik waves the door open and steps inside, uncaring of how loud his shoes must be sounding for whoever's below them.
“Erik,” Charles says softly, hand once again on his forearm, somehow warm through all the layers he's wearing. “Please listen to me, my friend.”
“I remember asking you—”
“You did,” Charles snaps, pushing the door shut behind them with a loud bang. Erik sees a rage in his eyes he's never known the man to be capable of. He looks...upset, his face flushed but eyes clear despite the drinks he's had. “You asked me to, after that night, and I did, Erik, but what do you want from me when it's my very nature to be aware of everyone around me? You can't expect me to tune everyone out and not use my telepathy. It would be like asking me to stop breathing. Do you suppress your metallokinesis when we go somewhere? Don't you take stock of every metal object in the room and make sure you're aware of every exit route and check if the escape stairways are rusty or not? How would you feel if you weren't allowed to touch any metal at all?”
Erik stops to think for a moment. He's never realized Charles has noticed all these things about him — the way he scans every person however superficially for any dangerous metal instruments, every place they go to for the closest exits available, and all the possible options he has with the every metal object in his reach.
Charles is still talking. “...do, too. I don't delve into people's minds, despite what you may think. Telepathy isn't like you'd expect it to be. I don't intend to find out what your plans for after breakfast were or what the bartender was thinking about. All I do, without any control over it, is be aware of everyone's presence in my periphery. Thoughts come to me only of someone's thinking them extremely loudly in my direction. They're amplified if I'm in close proximity to someone like I am with you right now. You can't expect me to ignore it, Erik. Surely you understand?”
Erik does. He hadn't ever met a telepath before, only heard of them, until he'd suffered at the hands of Emma Frost and had been rescued by Charles. He doesn't know the extent of their powers, but Charles must be very powerful, if he'd been able to wield Cerebro without too much damage to his health. he swallows any further words and mumbles a gruff sorry that seems to work for Charles. The other man lets go of his arm and apologizes for getting so worked up.
Which gets Erik wondering, if he's been somewhat distrusting of Charles' powers up until this point, what about all the other people in his life? Raven? His peers at school? Professors at his university?
He must have been thinking that out loud, because Charles sighs resignedly. “There's always some distrust there. With Raven, she asked me to stay out of her head entirely since she understood the scope of my powers. My friends didn't bother as much, but I was made to take suppressants whenever we had important examinations. The effects...well, let's just say I'm glad I don't need them anymore.” He smiles thinly, but there's a seed of rage planted in Erik's head.
“That's bullshit,” he spits. “How could they make you take that...that thing? Don't they have strict policies for biases against mutants? So much for inclusivity.”
“Of course they do, but it's psionics that are different. Even in mutant circles where people are mostly accepting of each other, there's always some bias against us. We are more powerful than most mutants in general. Of course there's some fear about changing their mind and making them do things they may have no control over.”
“I could bring down whole buildings on them if I wanted to. How can you let them walk over you like that, Charles?” Erik asks, glaring. “Just be trampled on and accept every injustice they see fit because they're uncomfortable? Don't you see the need to change the way things are?”
“Change is necessary and will help mutants in the long run. Laws today aren't as strict as they were when I was younger, and with the right pressure from the right people, we can make further advancements to how we're perceived. We're moving forward, Erik. The pace may be glacial but we are moving forward.”
“And when will it help? When you're old and greying and no longer need to be outside? The future is now, Charles. I'm helping the CIA only because they have resources that I don't. Surely you don't expect me to stay around and see how you're going to achieve your mutant utopia?”
Charles' silence lasts two seconds too long. The air between them seems to shift for a moment, the perfect bubble of their everyday routine threatening to pop. This is all just an illusion, Erik reminds himself, fists clenching. He's going to go back to searching for Shaw once their job here is done. This is nothing but a stopgap.
But then Charles shakes his head, and everything seems to settle down once again. “I have my reasons, and you have yours. Can we please put this argument off for a later date? I feel a headache coming on. I may have had too many drinks, I'm afraid.”
Erik doesn't argue, even though he can feel the anger still simmering in his veins. It's the injustice of this all, of what Charles has had to go through and what their kind already is going through, that makes him want to shake Charles by the shoulders and make him understand that his sweet talking won't get them anywhere. There's also the unprecedented factor of being somewhat attracted to Charles which he knows is going to hurt either of them in the long run, and it will only serve to deviate him from killing Shaw.
He watches as Charles downs half a bottle of water from the nightstand, wincing when he screws the lid back on.
“Can't you...I don't know, reduce your headache, or something?”
Charles smiles. “Unfortunately not. It works on everyone but me. I can give your senses the illusion of pain dulling, but not myself, because I already know it's nothing but an illusion. Yours don't, and your receptors...I'm probably boring you, aren't I.” He smiles self-deprecatingly, tugging his jacket off.
Erik simply stands still and watches as scenes from today morning play out in his head. Charles had been sitting across him in the diner, a smile on his face while not paying attention to the people around them. He reached out and squeezed Erik's hand and thanked him for staying back and being willing to help Charles in his search for mutants — their search, as he corrected himself later. Erik was uncomfortable because he'd never been thanked for anything before, and definitely not so earnestly, but there was something about Charles that made him try and smile back, and jokingly say us against the world because that's how it is, them and no one else, mutants against humans, and Charles had laughed and agreed, squeezing his hand once more before drawing it away, and Erik instantly regretted the coldness that seeped in.
He's seen Charles wake up in the morning. An absolute menace if he has to get out of bed, and an absolutely cheerful menace once he's up and about. It should be impossible to have that much goodwill towards anything, especially in the morning. Erik can think of nothing else but how it would be like to kiss him.
Charles' eyes widen. He's definitely heard what Erik's been thinking.
“Erik...” He says when Erik moves from where he’s been standing, forcing Charles to step back till his back hits the wall. “Are you sure you wanted me to—”
“—hear what I was thinking? Maybe.” He takes a step forward, only for Charles to flinch and shut his eyes. All his newfound bravado fizzles away as he looks at Charles.
“Are you— I’m not going to hurt you, Charles, is that what you think of me?”
“Of course not, Erik,” Charles says, reaching forward to grab his hands. “I could stop you if I wanted to, you know that. I just...I don’t want you to do this drunkenly and regret it the next morning.”
Erik Lehnsherr doesn't have regrets. And he's not drunk. Well, just a bit. But all he wants to do is kiss Charles, and there's nothing stopping him.
He's almost scared for a moment, when he pulls Charles in close, scared that Charles will think the worst of him or still be afraid despite what Erik's said —
Charles is startled for a moment before he throws himself into the kiss, hands grabbing the lapels of Erik's suit and pulling him in closer. Charles' lips are perfectly soft and warm and he kisses with the right intensity as Erik wraps an arm around his waist to steady him, his other hand weaving a hand into Charles' hair while simultaneously making sure the door isn't going to open under any circumstances.
Charles pulls back after several moments, panting and staring into Erik's eyes. Erik's heart is beating faster than he can ever remember it doing before; another feeling alien to him. What kind of a miracle worker is Charles Xavier?
He doesn't say anything as Charles lays a hand on his chest gently, almost as if he's afraid of scaring Erik away.
— or maybe not, because he's already seen everything Erik's mind has to offer and is still standing here, with him.
“You really need to stop overthinking things, my friend,” he says with a smile, before leaning up to capture Erik's lips in a softer kiss.
Erik doesn't really know what he's done to deserve a touch so gentle, but he can't help but be sentimental. It's been way too long since he's felt like this. He's never felt like this before. Wanting someone and being wanted return. It's foreign, but it feels right. Only because it's with Charles.
It's been just a week and he's already a goner, Erik muses, nosing his way down Charles' jaw. And apparently Charles has felt the same about him all this while. They could have been doing this earlier, though. They definitely should have.
They barely check out on time the next morning.
Erik realizes soon enough that Charles isn't just a pretty face and a posh voice and educated takes on the world thrown together. He's passionate about what he wants and likes, and even though his ideals vary from Erik's, his courage to be who he is, is admirable.
Charles talks about Erik doing better with his help and about all of the things they can do if they're by each other's side. The Erik from a few weeks ago wouldn't have found this particularly appealing. He's managed well by himself all these years. But there's something about being understood and listened to and challenged that Erik hasn't found elsewhere in all the years he's travelled across the world, and he doubts he can find someone as captivating as Charles. It's the first time in his entire life that he's connected with someone this way, found someone to relate to who cares about the same things as he does.
He still doesn't have a name for what exactly they have between them, but he doesn't mind staying around for a while more to find out. There's not much he can lose from this. As long as Shaw is out there, alive and breathing, Erik's not going to let himself catch a break. He's waited nearly two decades for a chance to exact revenge on the man who destroyed his childhood. He doesn't mind waiting a few more weeks.
Erik lets his attention return to Charles, who's currently looking out of the window as they drive to their next location. His eyes catch Erik's when he turns, and his lips curve into a smile like the one he'd given Erik after they'd first met.
Erik feels something shift in his chest. He'll face the future when it unfolds in front of him. Till then, he's perfectly content basking in the knowledge that he must have done something right, after all, to have met Charles.
He doesn't even mind when Charles plays The Shadows all evening long.